


Whirlwind

by peaceloveandjocularity, stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:22:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24309664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peaceloveandjocularity/pseuds/peaceloveandjocularity, https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: A re-imagining of the episode, "They call the wind Korea."
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Kudos: 17





	Whirlwind

Potter paced. “I never should have let them go. I just got so blessed tired of Winchester’s whining...”

“We all did, Colonel. Anyone else would have made the same choice,” BJ reassured him, but his eyes looked wrong, frightened. 

It didn’t pacify the Colonel. “No one else has to call the parents of those two boys if they’ve died in that storm!”

Hawkeye joined in. “Colonel, they’re delayed is all. I’m sure if Death stopped for them, Charles paid him to go away.” 

***

The storm howled down from its birthplace among lightning-scarred stone and they huddled in the makeshift shelter they’d made of an overturned transport truck. The road forward had been blocked by mudslides and the road back was clogged with convoys. There was nothing to do but halt and try to weather the storm... and the truck proved a better option, by far, than their jeep. 

“Klinger, you do realize that my back is solid, correct?” the surgeon asked. “No amount of nuzzling is going to allow you to burrow inside.

“Sorry, M-m-major. Cold. Don’t suppose you packed any blankets?” 

“I rather assumed a four star hotel would furnish me with linen. Of course, I also assumed I would be  _ in  _ said motel instead of facing death in a transport truck. But given our difference in height, I have an idea.” It was practically torture to leave the warmth he’d found and miles out of character to sacrifice his designer clothing for the comfort of an underling, but he did it just the same, bundling Klinger into a shirt that was much too large. 

“Better?”

Klinger wasn’t accustomed to being seen to so efficiently, but his hands were so cold that he couldn’t help but be grateful that Charles had fastened the buttons on his behalf. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

They returned to their respective nests, Klinger once again curled into the Major’s back. The wind rose to a crueler pitch and Charles felt something warm graze his ear. 

“Now what are you doing?” he muttered. 

“Major, you keep saying we’re probably going to die. If I’ve got any say in it, I’d rather go making you moan than with the wind in my ears.” 

“Klinger...” He rolled over to face the man he’d become trapped with. 

“I know, I know. I’m not who’d you pick. Close your eyes. You can pretend I’m whoever you want. Just help me drown out the storm.” 

“I’ve no desire to pretend you are anyone other than your dear self.”

“Major?” Maybe he had misheard over the thunder and wind. But maybe not. Charles reached out and drew his hands to his chest to warm them, covering them with his own. 

He was smiling. 

“Charles, please.”

“Charles.” Though only a single syllable, it felt like a momentous trespass; it made him at once eager and shy, a through-the-looking glass combination that fit right in with the storm and their plight. “I didn’t know,” he said at last. 

“That was rather my intention, Max. But you should know, now, that you captured my attention on the day I arrived- how could you not? - and that my respect for you has only increased.”

It wasn’t at all what he’d expected “Respect?”

“Mm-hmm. I know how frightened you are in this horrible place, but you work hard and stay cheerful. Even here, you’re brave. Very brave, indeed, to steal a kiss from a Winchester.”

“I took a gamble that since you’re a surgeon you wouldn’t want to hurt your hands on my nose!” Klinger admitted. 

Winchester shocked him by placing a kiss on the prominent organ. Klinger angled his head, sought his mouth. Winchester obliged, but kept the kiss shallow, left him hanging from his lips, breathing hard. 

Klinger grinned at his tactics. “Going to make me pay for what I stole, huh? Make me beg?” 

“Oh, I’m going to make you do much more than that.” 

It was not that Klinger was overpowered, precisely, but that Charles was so very big. His limbs made a pleasant trap and he bore down, one leg parting Klinger’s thighs, stopping just before Klinger could feel the answer to the question in his mind:  _ are you as hard as you’ve made me?  _

The wind raked the sides of the rude shelter. Thunder pummeled the foreign land like stones. Yet, in that moment, with Winchester’s lips pressed to his throat, Klinger found he couldn’t care about the storm outside. The storm building inside his body, chaste for the whole of his stint in the army, simply commanded more of his attention. 

***

Potter paced in boots made for riding. Beyond the windows, lightning made threats and then promptly proceeded to carry them out.  _ They’re smart men, both of ‘em _ , the Colonel reassured himself.  _ They won’t stay in that army issue lightning rod of a jeep _ . But the thought provided little comfort. If Klinger and Winchester had left the jeep, they were exposed somewhere, knees pressed in cold mud, lashed with cold rain. Potter cursed.  _ And Klinger prone to pneumonia anyway. At least they’re together. Winchester might come off as a royal jackass more often than not, but he’ll put Klinger’s welfare first for all that. I just hope this goose drowner dies down before it does more than dampen their feathers!  _

***

Klinger had endured his share of novel and unusual experiences while in the army, but he’d never been kissed into submission before. He couldn’t get free to ask, but he was pretty sure that was what was happening; through the mere pressure of his lips, Charles had rendered him helplessly docile - and now he was doing something delicious near his waistband. A few seconds later he had worked his way inside. Klinger wasn’t begging - not yet - but he wiggled and strained after deeper contact. 

“So eager?” Charles teased, tracing him. 

“That storm’s getting worse. I’d like to experience seventh heaven before I end up in the real thing.” 

“We’re as safe as we can be, Max. And while I can’t promise more in the way of protection, I think you’ll find me a sure hand at distraction.” He squeezed him as he spoke, the pressure steady and full of promise. 

***

“Would you quit watching the door?” Hawkeye yelled at his bunkmate. “You’re going to make me have kittens!” 

“Aren’t you worried?” BJ shot back. “That isn’t some springtime shower out there. There’s already flooding on the Jungnangcheon and we don’t know where they are. If they were driving in one of those valleys and a flash flood...”

“Don’t say it! If you say it, some dark force hears it. You’re making up horror stories for no reason! For all we know, they made it to the chopper and are drinking hot sake in Seoul.”

BJ shook his head. “They didn’t make the chopper. Potter got the landing crew. No Winchester.” 

“Okay, well maybe they took shelter with a nice Korean family. They’re having tea instead of sake. Winchester is being his usual insufferable self and Klinger has made himself an uncle to all the kids.”

“You really believe that?”

“I have to believe that. Every other possibility makes me want to throw up. Look at it this way: they have each other. If I had to be stuck in a windstorm, I’d rather have you with me than go it alone.”

BJ nodded. “Me too. I just hope Klinger was wearing pants for once. It’s way too cold for a skirt.”

***

Klinger had not been wearing pants when he had left the 4077th - he had been hoping to find a general in Seoul who might see him in costume and grant his section 8 - and he wasn’t wearing so much as a single stitch now. 

Vulnerable was far from his favorite state in Korea, but he had to admit that Winchester made it worthwhile. Undressing him, Charles has blessed every part of him with his mouth or his hands (sometimes both!) and his eyes shined with what looked very much like admiration.  _ You’re beautiful _ , those eyes seem to say and Klinger was almost ready to believe it. 

***

Agitated, Margaret Houlihan tossed the small glass bottle of nail polish - color: mesa dawn - across the tent. Klinger was forever after her to borrow such things and she always refused on the grounds that, as someone proud to be in the service, she didn’t want to further his quest for a section 8. Tonight she regretted her tight-fisted tendencies. Would it have really hurt to let Klinger have the tiny amount of joy that came from brushing on layers of color? The image of his body gone still sent a sob tearing against the tendons in her throat. Would they let her paint his nails for a funeral? 

Standing, she hugged herself and told herself, aloud, not to be such a sniveling ninny. “He’s got, Charles with him, hasn’t he?” she asked a universe raging with storm winds. “Majors do not die in storms! It isn’t dignified!” Ridiculous as this outburst was, it comforted her. Charles was all about dignity. 

***

Margaret’s assessment of Winchester would not have held up well if she could have seen him in that moment. As for Klinger, his toes were just cold.

The wind had changed direction on them and they had been forced to leave off their night play to try to reinforce their shelter. Gathering debris, they’d created a lean to  _ inside _ the downed truck. Charles had wrapped Klinger in his shirt for this part of the evening’s entertainment. “It’s quite difficult to perform manual labor in this state,” the Major quipped, winning a smile and a long, admiring look from Klinger. That smile took in everything Winchester’s wind-ruffled clothing failed to hide. 

Once they were nestled down out of the wind again, Klinger decided to reward the Major’s hard work, moving nimbly down Charles’ long body, pulling his shirt out of his pants and folding them down around his hips. Charles stilled him with a touch. “Max...”

“Major I’ve imagined seeing you lose it so many times. Just lay back and enjoy it, huh?” 

Unaccustomed to such direct flattery, Charles deflected. “Between your section 8 escapades and your sewing,  _ when did you have time _ ?” 

Klinger chuckled; he knew Charles was nervous and covering, edgy at being made vulnerable in turn. “I have a busy mind, Major. My favorite thing to keep it busy with is you. Now, relax, huh?” He stroked him until he was almost too inflamed to bear it, easing him back down when the intensity made him sit up and gasp. 

Shifting, Klinger took him into his mouth. Charles closed his eyes when he moaned around him, but opened them to watch him take him deep. What really got him wasn’t the sound or that wet and capable mouth; he came close to losing it every time Klinger looked up with those too-dark eyes of his and silently begged.  _ Let go _ , those lurid glances said.  _ I’ve got you. I want it. Want to feel you shaking because of me.  _

Letting Klinger work him with an expertise he should not have possessed (maybe, Winchester was forced to admit, he really  _ had _ thought about it quite a bit), Charles gave himself up to moaning. It wasn’t as though anyone could hear. They may as well have been on the moon. And Klinger clearly liked the fact that his lover was being as loud as he wanted; those long, low cries sped his motions and made him bob and writhe, his body hungry for touch. 

***

Knowing it would be futile, Colonel Sherman T. Potter got out of bed and looked out the window. The glass was dewed with condensation- the humidity and cold glass conspiring to prevent even a view of the storm.

_ Hell of a banshee wind crying along out there, though... _

As he so often did in moments of stress, he imagined writing to his dear wife. 

_ My dearest Mildred, _

_ Remember that one Halloween we were stationed by that tiny base by the sea? You found that book in a secondhand shop about “haints” and familiars and kelpies and such. We had a good time eating your pulled taffy and popcorn balls and scaring ourselves silly!  _

_ I’m thinking of those stories tonight, but with my men missing - my Corporal with his sweet spirit and eyes dark and darting like a bird, Major Winchester all brilliant and broken - I’m a whole other kind of scared!  _

The wind moaned again and he shivered and blew out the lamp. 

***

Riding the edge in an increasingly sharp series of crests, Charles searched for Klinger’s hand to anchor himself. Flashes of too-near lightning lit their shelter-inside-a-shelter and made silver sea-floor patterns over their skin. Torn between reassuring the physician and finishing him, Klinger tried to hold his gaze, tried to make him feel how much he’d wanted him. He hated the storm for the trapped-animal feeling it created in his skin,  _ but,  _ he thought, _ I’d stand naked in it for you _ . 

The rain smashed around them like shattered glass and Klinger had the strangest regret that no one else would ever know how beautiful Charles was lit up by lightning; even if there had been someone he could have safely told, he didn’t have the words for that patrician face and those impossible eyes filled with darkness and that dangerous radiance all at once. 

***

“Are you awake?”

“Who isn’t? The wind has voices in it.” As the storm had drawn near, the wind had taken to moaning - a stretched out cry that elevated the storm from alarming to eerie. Knowing he’d sounded harsher than he’d intended, BJ scooted toward the wall and held the blanket up in a “get in here” gesture. 

It was rare that Hawkeye - who needed human touch as others needed air - gained this privilege without an intervening act (illness, extreme cold) or a significant amount of groveling. He crossed the space between them so quickly, Beej was half-ready to believe in astral projection. Once they were tucked in together, Hawkeye’s long limbs tangled to eliminate every pocket of space between them, Hawkeye nuzzled his shoulder and asked, “What’s on your mind, BJ?” 

“Klinger.”

Hawk’s eyes laughed and chided at once. “Not our Bostonian bunkmate, last of the military-serving aristocrats?”

BJ looked exasperated. “I knew you’d say that. And I know, I should be able to worry about Winchester just as much. But it’s different with Klinger. You know how scared he is! Every time he comes into OR, I see it in his eyes. He never says it, but it’s there like a scream he’s keeping locked in his throat.”

The almost literary nature of this description surprised his best friend. Hawk thought of reminding Hunnicutt that  _ he  _ had actually served longer with the costumed Corporal, but he let it be and tried to suppress a jealous, wondering pang that wanted to know what BJ would be like if he was the one missing in the storm. “We’re all scared, Beej.”

“Not like that! The army can say Klinger’s not section 8 all day long, but death has as real a face for him as it does for you and me - and he doesn’t get to fight it and win. He just has to face it over and over.” He made a disgusted sound. “I just hope Winchester’s not yelling at him.”

Hawk hoped so, too. If Winchester was and they made it back and BJ found out about it, the Bostonian was liable to end up with a bruised jaw. Helpless to do more, he tried to rub the tension from BJ’s back and hoped the tent stakes held. 

***

Klinger could have happily certified that while Winchester had definitely cried out for him (and didn’t his given name sound amazing in that accented voice?) he wasn’t yelling  _ at _ him - except to be heard over the storm that still seemed to want to kill them, despite the joy they’d found in one another. 

Their lean-to shuddered as the wind battered the truck and Klinger buried his head in Winchester’s neck. The doctor lay dazed, holding him. His mind was still filled with the image of those eyes looking directly into his, the motion of Klinger’s throat as he swallowed. 

“You’re...” He tried to speak, was surprised to find his voice roughened by his screams. “Max...”

“Love you, Major,” came the shy answer, spoken into his throat. 

It tightened Charles’ throat to hear it; how long had it been since someone had said as much? (That Klinger had used his title was both ridiculous and endearing). And how had they come so far so quickly? It tickled him to think of Klinger’s gamble, his mouth grazing his ear.  _ I’m the only one who has any idea just how very brave you are... how you’d risk everything for love when you didn’t know anything about my feelings at all. _

***

As head nurse, Major Margaret Houlihan had endured her share of human misery translated into sound: moans, groans, cries - she’d weathered it all. This made it especially annoying that mere weather was causing her to hold a pillow over her ears. “What the hell kind of storm is this!?” she demanded of no one in particular. 

She tried to slow her breathing. She had never found loud noises easy to bear, but she was tough; she’d taught herself not to go to pieces when artillery boomed. Surely she could handle thunder, right? She wasn’t a child. And it wasn’t as though she was directly  _ in _ the storm as two members of the 4077th might very well be. “You had better be behaving yourself, Charles,” she mentally ordered the missing Major. “I know how you feel about your dignity, but unbend a little if you’re out in this. At least hold your hands over his ears. Say soothing things. Something.”

She didn’t have much hope for this wish. Bedside manner wasn’t Winchester’s strength and Klinger was an NCO. But making the wish meant that she still believed they’d be fine. Holding onto that, and holding a pillow over her face to muffle the concussive blasts of thunder, she tried to count tanks until sleep came.

***

If Margaret could have gotten past the fact that Winchester was, at that moment, breaking army regulations and (in some places) civilian law, she probably would have been proud of him. He wasn’t  _ behaving _ himself, exactly, but he wasn’t worried about his dignity half so much as he was worried about keeping Klinger warm while driving him gently out of his mind. Music lover that he was, Winchester couldn’t help but compare his new-won love to an instrument; under his touch, Klinger’s skin seemed to sing and he wondered how anyone who had been in his position before him had ever let the Corporal go. 

“If we survive this,” he told Klinger as he saw him through the aftershocks, “I hope you realize that I am keeping you.”

The storm made sleep nearly impossible, but they clung together as it moved inland, Charles pressing kisses to his dark hair, Klinger making him laugh by proposing all of the adventures (in bed and out) they would have when the skies cleared. 

***

The next day, the pair discovered they’d spent the night a mere 200 yards from the 4077th, having driven in circles. They were greeted with cheers and hugs and Winchester waved off his CO’s offer to send him to Tokyo. Though the pearl of the Orient, Tokyo no longer had anything he wanted compared to the comforts that now existed at the edge of the compound. 

Body humming with the memory of being touched, Klinger took himself to get cleaned up and changed. When he returned to his tent after showering, he was surprised to find Father Mulcahy.

“Father? Is everything okay?"

“It is now, yes. Tent flaps we can replace, but the fear around here was that we were going to have to find substitutes for you and for Major Winchester - and since we knew that the two of you, being inimitable, would be impossible to replace, we didn’t get much sleep!”

Klinger smiled (and felt a little guilty). “We didn’t mean to worry anyone, Father.”

“To think, you were right there.” He gestured to the hill where they’d been “lost.” “You couldn’t see the lights from any of the buildings? Or  _ hear  _ anything?”

“Believe me, Father, if we’d have known we could have come ‘home,’ we would’ve.” This was mostly true. Once Charles had kissed him, Klinger wouldn’t have left that transport for anything less than a ticket back to Toledo… and maybe not even for that. 

“Curious thing how sound operates in a storm… or a battle for that matter. Acoustic shadows, I think it’s called.”

“Father, I feel like you’re trying to tell me something.”

“Something indelicate, actually. Klinger, is there anything you’d like to confess about your short trip?”

Klinger didn’t believe, not for a minute, that anything he’d done on his trip put his soul in jeopardy. He couldn’t fathom a God who wouldn’t sanction love. Still, he had a feeling he knew just what Mulcahy ( _ and please let it  _ **_just_ ** _ have been Mulcahy _ , he thought) had heard and he knew the priest would feel better if he absolved him. So, he went through the ritual to conclude by saying, “I won't have sex with Charles during a windstorm 200 yards from a MASH unit again in Korea, I promise.” 

Mulcahy’s kind, clever eyes brightened with laughter. “Go blessed and go rest my son… and sin… less specifically?”

Smiling, Klinger gave his word. 

***

Late that night, Charles appeared at his bedside to say, “On the coast, we have hurricane parties. I looked at the forecast, my dear, and it’s supposed to rain tonight. Do you suppose  _ you _ could host this time?”

Klinger motioned for him to climb in and said a silent prayer for a  _ long _ rainy season. 

End! 


End file.
